I fled the Hungarian uprising

In the middle of the night I was woken by my parents and told we were leaving our home. That was it - no explanation, no arguments. I was given a small rucksack and told I could choose one thing to take with me. I was five years old; I chose my teddy bear. I was told that we were escaping and that I mustn't tell anyone, because it would be extremely dangerous if the wrong people found out.

This was Budapest, the winter of 1956, and we - my parents, myself and my five-month-old baby brother - were about to embark on a perilous journey, fleeing the anti-Soviet revolt that had begun with a student march on October 23. We made our way to the station, got on a train going out of the city towards the border with Austria, and within five minutes I had blurted out that we were escaping to our aunt's home in Vienna. It turned out half the people on the train were up to the same thing, so there was no real harm done. Soon, everyone began swapping ideas of what to do next.

We had to change trains in the middle of nowhere, and the next stage of the journey was very scary, because there was no light in the carriage and no way of knowing who was around. There was always the fear that someone would report us if they knew we were Hungarians trying to get away. Suddenly, in the darkness, someone began to whistle the Rákóczy March - a very strong signal of the whistler's identity. Within seconds, someone else had joined in, then another and another, until - in the pitch black - everyone was whistling the famous tune and we knew we were safe again.

We arrived at a small village where we had been told to find the teacher's house; he would look after us until it was safe to cross the border. I remember it was snowing and, being tiny myself, the memory has always been of waist-high snow all around me. I've been assured since that it wasn't nearly so severe.

There were people all over the countryside trying to get away and many refugees seeking shelter - we were lucky to get taken in. On the first night, we crept through woods to a spot we had been told was a crossing point. We had gone only a few metres when the sound of gunfire could be heard everywhere. As it got nearer, we fled back to the teacher's house.

The second night we tried again and joined a group who seemed to know what they were doing. My brother cried and somebody said, "If that baby can't be silenced, we'll have to deal with him." My terrified parents decided to abandon the whole thing, return to the teacher's house, then make our way back to Budapest the next day.

The teacher had a suggestion: he knew of another village, farther along the border route, where it might be easier to cross because not many people would find it. We set off again, this time in a horse and cart, which I remember thinking was the most fun I'd had in days. We found the village but were greeted with very bad news: a group of Hungarian soldiers walking down the street told us we were too late as they had just been replaced by Russians at the border crossing. This was the last straw and my parents again decided to give up and head back to the city. My father gave the soldiers some money and his watch - they were destitute and had nothing to look forward to either.

We trudged into the village in a pretty sorry state, with literally the clothes we stood up in, a spare bottle for the baby, two nappies and a change of underwear each. And I had my bear in my rucksack. In the village, we were spotted by the baker, who welcomed us into his house. I have never smelt anything so good before or since as the warm, rising dough. I fell asleep at once on a blanket on the floor. Despite the protestations of the baker's wife, who was worried they would be shot for giving us shelter, we stayed there another two days until my parents decided to have just one more try at crossing the border.

Exhausted and tearful, I fought my way out of sleep and prepared to go out into the snow again - but I couldn't carry the rucksack another step. There was a girl there, about the same age as me, and I gave her my teddy bear. I like to think she may still have it.

We made it across the border. A tall, young Swiss student scooped me up, gave me a piece of chocolate and carried me to safety.